


Fight for the Love

by Papa_Lazarou



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adding, Bamf!Greg, Betrayal, Greg in danger, M/M, Mycroft in danger, gun threat, h/c, hurt/ comfort, sex and swearing, terorrism, what else do you need?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papa_Lazarou/pseuds/Papa_Lazarou
Summary: Greg became part of the gun squad of New Scotland Yard to fight terrorist attacks after the Westminster Bridge Attack.And now he is called upon to defend the Houses of Parliament from terrorists. But with Mycroft in the building, how much will he subjected himself to for Mycroft?





	1. Chapter 1

Greg was handing in paperwork to his boss when the call came in. He instantly knew it was a phone call he never wanted to receive, due to the ringtone.

His superintendent quickly dismissed him as Greg answered the phone call.

“We have, we believe, twelve gunmen on Saint Margaret Street heading down towards the Houses of Parliament. All available units mobilise.”

The automatic call cut off leaving Greg frozen in fear, until someone rushed past him, and knocked his shoulder. He snapped out of his trance and followed the younger man down to the basement.

Just after the Westminster Terror Attack, Greg volunteered to be on the gun squad. He would get additional training on using a gun and then be called out when a suspected terrorist attack occurred, like now. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but the reason he volunteered was not due to a sense of duty for Queen and country, but because he knew where they would be attacking; powerful places, like the Houses of Parliament, places where Mycroft could be, and he wanted to make sure he could protect Mycroft everyday possible  

He reached the basement, where most of the squad was already gearing up. He grabbed the nearest bullet-proof vest and fastened it tightly around himself, before unclipping the nearest Glock 22 and adding ammunition to it.

The squad leader came into the basement, shouting orders before he got through the threshold.

“Cars 1 to 5 you’re going to be heading south down SMS to block off their north exit. Cars 6 to 10, you’re going to be heading north up SMS. When we get there, we’re going to regroup before keeping in our groups and systematically going through each floor and eliminating any threat, by any means.” The leader paused for a brief moment and looked directly at Greg. “If you know of any loved ones that may be there, text them to get somewhere safe. We’ll make sure you get to them. Now move out!” He finished with a bark.

Greg rushed to his assigned car and got in the passenger seat.

“Never thought we would get called out.” Greg’s partner laughed nervously as she pulled out of the garage.

“No, I wish we didn’t have to.” Greg mumbled back, as he concentrated on texting Mycroft.

_Where are you?! Terror attack on HoP. Need to know where you are xx_

Moments later he received a text back from an unknown number.

_Mycroft Holmes is in an extremely important meeting, if this is a ploy to get his attention it will not work Gregory Lewis Lestrade. A_

Greg held back a scream at Anthea’s text. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t reply to Anthea, so he texted Mycroft’s number again, guessing that Anthea was still monitoring his phone.

_No. There is a terror attack I’m coming now what floor is he on? Jesus fuck just look outside_

Greg impatiently tapped his thumb against the butt of his gun, as he waited for a reply, waited for news from the squad leader who was keeping radio silence, waited for them to get to the Houses of Parliament so he could get to Mycroft. What seemed like an eternity later, Greg’s phone buzzed in his hand.

_I see. -3rd floor. Only you and your partner to this floor, no one else. A_

Almost instantly after Anthea’s text, Greg received another one, from Mycroft’s number this time.

_-3. Far east side, knock on the wall four times. X_

Greg let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Mycroft texted him. He was safe at the moment and getting to a secret safe room.

“Your man okay?” Greg’s partner asked.

“For the moment. But, Sandra, we need to go against Sargent’s orders. Can I count on you?”

“Sure detec- Greg,” Sandra corrected as she heard Greg cough pointedly. “What do we need to do?”

Greg told her what he had been texted and his theory that, as it was a Tuesday Mycroft would be in a meeting with people directly in contact with the Queen, to talk about tomorrow’s Prime Minister’s meeting with her.

They finally reached St Margaret's Street and started to idle down the road, checking there were no signs of threat or the gunmen. They pulled up with the other cars, blocking off the Houses of Parliament. Greg slipped his phone into his trouser pocket, before getting out of the car and readying his gun. They met up with the squad leader who was already talking.

“…each floor one by one. Clear it, make sure everyone is either dead or will survive and move on. Lestrade where is Holmes?”

“Minus third floor, sir!” Greg shouted, trying very hard not to show the embarrassment on his face, and failing.

“Good. You lead the charge downwards. Take groups one to four, I’ll take five to eight upwards. And group nine and ten, secure the ground floor. Move. Move. Move!” He shouted, as everyone scrambled into their groups.

Greg led his group into the building and took them down the east staircase. They kept silent as they went across the first basement floor, checking on everyone that they saw. Greg said a silent prayer every time they came across a body with a bullet wound, but none were Mycroft. On the second floor down, Greg took the lead, he kept his gun raised, checking in every room, only to find dead politicians.

Halfway down the corridor, one of the police officers found a man lying on the floor, with a bullet wound in his leg, but still breathing. Sandra immediately put pressure onto the wound trying to stem the heavy blood flow. Greg knelt down by his head.

“You’re going to be okay, we’ll get you out of here, you just need to relax.” Greg whispered. “Do you know what they looked like?”

The man shook his head, “It was… seconds ago. C- close.”

Greg nodded, and stood back up.

“Terrence, stay with this man. Apply pressure, make sure he lives. The rest of you, one of them is close by. Stay close. Stay aware.”

He tiptoed his team down the corridor, flinching at every noise that he didn’t make. As the team swarmed into one room, Greg stayed outside keeping watch. As he stayed there, he heard two men murmuring. He silently cocked his gun and followed after the two men, as he got closer he could hear them speaking in Russian.

As he went around a corner after them, Greg stood on a loose floorboard, that squeaked loudly. He dived back around the corner as a hail of bullets flew past his head. He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, as he tried to calm his heart rate. Seeing the hail of bullets stop, Greg dived from his safe space and pulled his trigger, one, two, three, four times.

Two bullets missed, one shattering a window, and the other embedding itself in the floor. The third bullet went into the left leg of the first attacker, he screamed in pain and dropped his gun to the floor, letting another bullet free. And the fourth flew straight into the chest of the fourth man, instantly killing him.

As Greg, knelt on the floor, panting, Sandra rushed up to him, her gun trained on the two attackers.

“Are they dead?” She whispered to Greg.

“One I got in the chest, the other in the leg, shoot him again.” Sandra gulped and looked over at the man, he was withering in pain on the floor, sobbing, and screaming profanities in both Russian and English.

She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger, shooting the first attacker in the head, killing him as painlessly as possible.

“We have shot and killed two men. There are ten more. I repeat one-oh left.” Greg said, through his radio.

As Greg pushed himself up, his left arm collapsed under him. With a whimper, Greg rolled onto his back and sat up. Prodding at his bicep, Greg’s fingers came back stained red with blood. He swore loudly and colourfully as pressed his hand against the wound.

“Greg. Greg. Jesus, Greg,” Sandra scrambled over to him. “You’ll be fine, we’ll get you to your man, and you’ll be fine.”

She took off her jacket and quickly cut the sleeve off with a pocketknife from one of the dead attackers. She tied it around Greg's arm, as he let out a small whimper.

“Come with me, we’ll get the rest of the team to cover us as we go down to the third floor, and then they can continue downwards.”

Greg nodded, not daring to unclench his teeth. He lent on Sandra’s shoulder heavily as he got back to his feet and went back to his group.

“Right guys,” Greg said, tensely, “change of plan. Sandra and I will be stopping on the next floor, Ericsson I want you to lead from now on, until this is over.”

Ericsson nodded, as he got his team to surround Greg and Sandra, before leading them out and down to the next floor.

On that floor, there were three men waiting for them, they had bottlenecked a left corner, and started to shoot widely as the group turned the corner. They dived back round the corner as the bullets kept coming. Eventually, after minutes of bullets, there was a momentary cease in the bullets, where Ericsson and two other officers dived around the corner and killed the three armed men.

“Three more down. Eight men left. That’s eight people left.” Ericsson called through his radio, alerting the rest of the squad.

They continued down the corridor, saying silent prays for the dead politicians littering the floor. As they came across another dead man in a suit, Greg’s stomach did somersaults in fear that it would be Mycroft, that he didn’t make it to the safe room. As they reached the end of the corridor, without any other incidents, Greg’s nerves were in tatters, and it was all he could do not to cry in both fear and pain. Greg sent the rest of the team on, as they came to the wall he hoped Mycroft was behind.

“I’m going to look like an idiot, if this is the wrong wall.” He tried to joke, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“He will be here, and safe. Now why don’t you knock on the wall, if it’s the wrong one, it’s only me here, and I won’t judge.” Sandra smiled kindly.

Greg nodded, steeling himself before knocking on the wall four times. A few moments went by as nothing happened, but neither of them moved, neither of them dared to even turn to look at each other. Eventually, the wall swung open partially, and in the entranceway, stood a tall, muscular man, with a gun trained on Greg’s head.

“State your name and officer number.” He growled at the pair.

“My name is Sandra Allison, I am 3496789. Detective Sergeant of the drugs department of New Scotland Yard.” Sandra explained quickly.

“I’m Gregory Lestrade, 2863500. A Detective Inspector of homicide at New Scotland Yard.”

The man turned to face the occupants inside, who said something Greg couldn’t hear, before the man stepped aside and let Sandra and Greg in. As soon as Greg stepped through the door, before his eyes could get used to the darkness, he felt two arms wrap around him, pulling him into the familiar embrace of Mycroft. As Mycroft held him close, rubbing his back, his arm brushed against the bullet wound in Greg’s upper arm, making him yelp loudly in pain, and his legs collapsing on him.

“Greg,” Mycroft murmured, “Greg are you alright? What happened?” Mycroft carefully laid Greg down, and placed Greg’s head in his lap.

“I was picking daisies- no Mycroft, I’ve been shot.” Greg brought one blood soaked hand to his mouth to quicken a sob, “Please. It hurts.”

“I know, but you are safe now, you are going to be alright. Let’s have some water, you look very ashen.” Mycroft said softly, as one of his guards passed Greg a water bottle.

He took sips of the water, to please Mycroft, but his stomach was wound so tight, that it was a shock to him that he didn’t throw the water straight back up.

“Does none of your guards know battleside medics? What Sandra did was good, but if you have some gauze…” Greg trailed off, as he started to cry silently.

Mycroft stroked his fingers through Greg’s sweat-plastered hair, and bent down to kiss his forehead.

“I promise you are safe now.” Mycroft whispered. “No one else is going to hurt you. I’ve got you now, you’re safe.”

Greg could hear Mycroft speaking, but didn’t know what he was saying, yet still he nodded along and pushed his head further into Mycroft’s lap, trying to get closer.

Mycroft’s eyes suddenly bulged wide, when he read Greg properly, “You’re in shock. Oh Greg.” Mycroft pulled Greg up, so he was sitting in Mycroft’s lap, his face buried into Mycroft’s neck, and Mycroft gently placing kissing in his hair.

“Garret, can you see if you can clean the wound, re-bandage it. Do what you need to do.” Mycroft ordered to the nearest guard.

“Sir, what if-?”

“What if I get shot or Peters or Fritzpatrick? We are safe. They cannot find us here, unless someone broadcasts our whereabouts. If that is not enough, think of Gregory as an extension to me. I want him to get the same treatment as I do.” Mycroft dropped his voice menacingly low. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Garret fumbled at the first aid kit on his back, before pulling out fabric scissors, disinfectant wipes and a clean bandage. He started to quickly and silently cut away at the makeshift bandage and Greg’s own jacket.

“Myc… please, it hurts so much.” Greg cried, “I think the bullet’s still in my arm. Please Mycroft.”

Greg flinched as Garret wiped at the wound.

“I’m sorry, sir. I will be done shortly, I just need to clean it and re-bandage it. Almost there.”

Greg instinctively curled up closer into Mycroft, trying to get away from the man causing him more pain. Mycroft cooed softly and continued to kiss at Greg’s hair and temple, unsure how else to help the man he loved the most.

He kept ahold of Greg, as his radio buzzed and alerted them to two more attackers down, so now there were only six attackers left.


	2. Chapter 2

It was taking all of Mycroft’s concentration and composure not to panic about the amount of blood Greg was loosing. He determinedly kept his eyes away from Greg’s arm, so he wouldn’t see the blood, if he did, he knew that his brain would supply him with an accurate guess at the blood soaking Greg’s sleeve, and for once he didn’t want to know the information. Instead, he kept his eyes stoically on Greg’s face. It came as no surprise to Mycroft when Greg slumped heavily against him, his eyes closed and his breathing, still shallow, evened out.

  
Mycroft listened closely to Greg’s radio, still telling them how many attackers were left. It seemed like hours between each toll, but Mycroft knew it was merely minutes.

  
As it was announced that there were three attackers left, one of the bodyguards, with them, offered to lay Greg down, with his head pillowed against his jacket, but Mycroft only shook his head and held onto Greg’s tighter. Anthea came moments later, offering a fresh bottle of water, but Mycroft knew that if he drank anything, it would make him instantly sick. The coppery smell that tinged the air made sure Mycroft never felt any calmer.

  
Two more attackers left, and Greg was starting to become heavy against Mycroft’s chest. He carefully shuffled them both backwards, until Mycroft was leaning against a wall. The brickwork cold against his back, acted as a natural compress to his aching muscles.

  
One more attacker left, and Mycroft was starting to feel hopeful. There was a good chance that they were going to get out of this bunker alive, if not fully intact. Mycroft thought that until Sandra spoke up. She had been sitting across from the door, her gun in her lap, sipping at a bottle of water, and washing her hands of the blood and dirt. As she heard there was one attacker left she jumped up, shouldering her gun and pointed it straight at Greg.

  
“Right then, listen up. You’re all going to do exactly as I say, or else Lestrade dies. And this time he will die. No cock ups.”

  
Mycroft instinctively pulled Greg closer into his body, as if he was trying to shield Greg from the threat.

  
“You! Holmes! I know you’re in contact with her majesty,” Sandra sneered, “What would happen if her favourite informant was to lose all hope? Would he still work for her, or would he blame her for the death of his kryptonite and become a recluse? Would he become angry or depressed? Would his lover be avenged or forgotten? Well what’s the answer, Holmes?”

  
Mycroft froze, there was someone she wanted, this wasn’t an opportunistic killing, she had planted herself in New Scotland Year, worked up to Detective Sergeant, ensured she would be in the same car as Greg. No, this was planned and thorough.

  
_More likely to be a psychopath_ Sherlock’s voice whispered in Mycroft’s mind. _Grandiose. Narcissistic. Wants to gloat. Get her talking, brother mine._

  
“That all depends on what you want, all this just to kill Greg. No, there would have been more simplistic ways of getting to Greg. You want something.” Mycroft said, trying to keep his voice even and steady, even though his heart was hammering in his chest.

  
“Oh we want something. To send a message, sure. To tell people that we are not to be messed with, that we’re not just some joke of a group. But more than that. We want you Mycroft Holmes. We want you to denounce this country as your home. We want you to denounce your job and your involvement in protecting this country. Allow it to go to the dogs. You are holding this country afloat, and we don’t want that. We want it to sink and burn. We are going to finish off what James Moriarty started. But we are better, we know how to get to the heart of this country and he is right in front of me. Staring down the barrel of my gun. Waiting to see if I give you an ultimatum. And I will. Give up this country. Leave. Move out of Europe. Take Lestrade and a suitcase and go. Or of course, we’ll shoot Lestrade, see how you deal with the loss.”

  
As Sandra spoke her finger twitched on the trigger, itching, wanting, desiring to kill Greg. Curious to see how someone dies peacefully. Curious to see how Mycroft would react.

  
“I’m waiting for your decision, Holmes.” She snapped after a few moments.

  
“I will never leave my home.” Mycroft replied, somehow sounding braver than he felt.

  
Sandra smiled as her finger pulled back. Pulling the trigger back. Firing the bullet, aiming at Greg’s head. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft opened his eyes, he was no longer in the basement, he no longer had Greg’s unconscious body in his lap. He was laying down. A needle was in his right hand, giving him fluids. But no other pain. So, he was in hospital, he had been unconscious due to… shock? There was no other reason. He looked to his right, to see Sherlock sat, crumbled, in a small armchair. He had his finger steepled under his chin watching Mycroft’s monitors intensely.

“John said you were fine. I don’t know why they’re keeping you in here.” Sherlock said, not looking away from Mycroft’s monitors, but saw that he was awake.

“Sherlock, I was shot at, probably shock.” Mycroft muttered, before coughing harshly. “How long was I out?”

“Can you not deduce it?”

Mycroft sighed inwardly before answering, “It is most likely the same day; therefore a few hours.”

“Four hours and thirty-two minutes,” Sherlock threw his legs off the armchair and sat up straight. “but you must have been injured, calling me Sherlock, and not brother mine.”

“We are alone, are we not?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock shook his head, before nodding towards the other side of the room. There was only one other bed in the room; private hospital, Sherlock must have arranged this, Mycroft thought. The bed’s covers were pulled up, hiding the figure from Mycroft’s view, but he did see a small speck of silvery hair.

“Greg!” Mycroft exclaimed, before coughing again.

He tried to sit up but collapsed on his arms. He closed his eyes and counted to three, before turned to look at Sherlock, whose eyes were crinkled in a silent laugh.

“Is Gregory all right? He’s been shot. Have they taken the bullet out? Will he survive?” Mycroft asked, stumbling over the words to get them out quick enough.

“The bullets have been taken out of Gavin, he’s stable but…”

“Bullets? Sherlock, there was more than one?”

“Why yes, Sandra shot him, don’t you remember? I heard from one of your lackeys that she wanted you to leave the country. Let it fall to the dogs- if it can fall any further. She was aiming for his-”

“Head. Oh God, Gregory, what did I do?”

“You put your job before your supposed lover, I don’t think he will be very happy when he finds out what happened.”

“Then he wasn’t shot in the head?”

“No, he survived, one of your guards dived at her as she pulled the trigger, he got shot in the thigh. Femoral artery. Not pleasant. Apparently, you passed out when you saw how rapidly the blood was pouring out of his leg. The police have had a hard time questioning your guards, but they gave information on Gavin when Donovan started crying. Nice touch from her, it definitely worked.”

“Shut up, brother mine.” Mycroft snapped, as he stared at the silvery slither of Greg’s hair. “Please leave us a moment, if John is out there, please send him in.”

“Pleases, brother mine?”

Mycroft closed his eyes, trying to remain calm, but his voice slipped low, “I am not in the mood for your mind games Sherlock. Either bring John in or go home. I do not care for your antics.”

Sherlock nodded even though Mycroft was looking away from him, he knew when he had pushed it too far with Mycroft. His whole demeanour shifted from one of a traditionalist man, to one of close to murder.

“I’ll get John to come in, before going back to Baker Street. You know how to find me.” Sherlock dramatically flung himself out of the chair, before sulking out of the room and finding John.

Mycroft allowed a solitary tear to fall from his eyes, as he watched Greg’s unmoving body. He had done this. He had denounced Greg, stated that his job was more important than the love of his life. He knew Greg would find out, either from the reports or from Sherlock gleefully explaining the situation. He would have to be told, from Mycroft, before he left the hospital. That gave him a couple of days, depending on the amount of blood loss.

A quiet knock came at the door, before it was softly pushed open, and John stepped through. He hovered awkwardly in front of the door, unsure whether to sit or stay standing.

“Sherlock said you wanted to speak with me?” John said softly, using his doctor’s voice, when he had to deliver bad news.

“I require information, that I can’t get from my brother.” Mycroft said, after a moment. Without looking at John, he added, “do sit down, I should believe we are on better terms than before.”

John sat in the armchair, somehow making it seem smaller than Sherlock did.

“Are you wanting my doctor expertise or my empathy?” John asked softly.

“I dare say both, but firstly your doctorate should come in useful. Do you know how much blood Greg lost?”

“Almost half, your guards did a good job, keeping the wounds closed, but the second bullet nicked his femoral artery. They’ve given him a blood transfusion, but they said he would be out for a couple of day and will need plenty of bed rest.” John explained.

“Thank you, and for your empathy. Hypothetically speaking, if your… soulmate was to allow someone to shoot you, for the sake of their job and national security, how would you…?”

“Take it?” John smiled sadly, “Badly, very badly. I would lose all trust in them, but this isn’t me we’re talking about is it? Greg loves you more than anything Mycroft. I think he will be annoyed at you, angry, and upset, but he won’t stop loving you. You’ve not heard the way he speaks of you, at the pub. I think, the easiest way to win him around, would be to buy him a ring- but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Mycroft nodded, allowing all the information to sink in.

“One more thing Doctor Watson, may you help me to sit up?” Mycroft asked, as he finally turned his attention from Greg to John.

Mycroft closed his eyes after John left, he was back in the supposedly safe room. He looks up at Sandra, who had a gun trained on Greg’s head.

“I am waiting for your decision.”

Mycroft sighed, what was he supposed to do? If he was to give in, then he would be called weak, and no matter the outcome, he would get sacked and made to flee the country, if he said no, then he would have Greg shot. Poor Greg. He’d already been shot once today, trying to protect him, how could Mycroft have him shot again? And killed this time. He couldn’t kill Greg, he was the best thing to happen in his life for… Mycroft couldn’t remember a time he was happier than with Greg. But he couldn’t compromise with terrorists, Greg would understand, if he was here. He was a police officer, it was his job.

“I will never leave my home.” Mycroft answered.

The next moment was filled with action and noise, that Mycroft could barely remember. One of his guards leaped at Sandra, knocking her to the ground, just as her finger tensed and pulled the trigger. Mycroft didn’t feel any pain, so he wasn’t shot, but he slowly turned his attention to Greg, not daring to see where the bullet ended up. Not his face, was Mycroft first thought, not his chest or abdomen. He looked further down Greg’s body as saw his leg. The inside of his left was covered in a red liquid. It was pulsating from a wound. Mycroft gave an audible gulp as he deduced where he had been shot. His femoral artery. Mycroft had him shot in his femoral artery.

Mycroft held back a sob as he felt his trouser leg get soaked with the warm, red fluid. Soaking through his trousers, soaking his leg, and his sock.

Garret was there in front of him. He had the first aid kit with him, for how much that would do, trying to slow down the blood loss. But it was no use. The last think Mycroft could remember thinking, was a plea to Greg, pleading for his forgiveness.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, Greg woke up. He didn’t bounce up, and pull Mycroft into a tight embrace. The only way Mycroft knew that he was conscious, was his heart monitor, it increased from a constant 68 beats per minute, which Mycroft had started to find comforting and relaxing, to a heart rate of 83. Greg’s eyes were still closed, but his fingers twitched around Mycroft’s hand, holding onto it, rather than being held.

“Greg,” Mycroft cooed, “Greg, oh Gregory. I’m right here, love. I’ve got you, you’re safe now.”

Greg could feel his hand grasped in a pair of hand, he could hear words being mumbled softly, gently. He couldn’t distinguish the words, but he would always know the voice. Mycroft was with him, and he felt safe, safe in Mycroft’s care, nothing would hurt him, so long as Mycroft was near.

Leaning in towards the direction of Mycroft’s voice, Greg felt a pair of lips press gently against his forehead. He opened his eyes, to see Mycroft sat close by his side, and smiling lovingly down at him.

“How do you feel, love?” Mycroft asked, quietly.

Greg wanted to say that he felt awful, but his voice came out raspy, before descending into a coughing fit.  
A flash of panic crossed Mycroft’s eyes before he helped Greg to tilt his head up.

“Why don’t we have some water; it’ll help?”

Greg nodded, and sipped at the water Mycroft offered him.

“Thank you Mycroft.” Greg smiled, as Mycroft put the glass back. “Did you get injured?”

“No, I did pass out, when I saw the extent of your injuries but I’m fine, I promise.” Mycroft added, when Greg gave him a skeptical look.

“I love you.” Greg smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I love you too.”

“You said injuries though, what do you mean by that? I can remember realising I got shot in the shoulder, but… did I make it to you?”

Mycroft nodded. “You did. Sandra half carried you, but you got to me. I never did say thank you for protecting me so, thank you Gregory. I know you defied orders, but I’ll make sure nothing comes of it.” 

Greg nodded and brought Mycroft’s hand to his mouth, gently kissing his knuckles.

“But when you got to me, with the bloodloss, you passed out in my arms.”

Greg blushed, and Mycroft moved his hand to cup Greg’s cheek.

“Don’t worry, remember I passed out as well. So one of my men, started to patch you up. I think it was Garret. And that’s when well… it turned bad.”

“Did Anthea get hurt? Sandra?”

“No, no. I mean yes, Sandra got shot and she died, but but…”

“Who the hell shot my partner?” Greg snapped and started to cough again.

He took the drink off Mycroft and continued to sip at it.

“Woodsley. He…” Mycroft sighed, no matter how he was to say it, it would never be good enough. “I need you to promise to not talk over me, just let me say my piece and then you can say and do whatever you’d like.”

Greg narrowed his eyes but nodded in agreement.

Mycroft explained what happened, from listening to the numbers of attackers dwindle, to Sandra’s ultimatum, and eventually his own choice.

“What the fuck Mycroft? You had me shot?”

“No Greg, no I would never.”

“Don’t lie. You said that your reply was that you would never leave your home. Your country. Your job. I knew you could never leave your job, but I thought, I just thought that maybe you would use some diplomacy and not have your supposed boyfriend shot.”

“That’s not what I said. For a long time my job was my home, The Diogenes, the Houses of Parliament, the late nights… well the late nights still are, but for a completely different reason. Greg, you are my home.”

“Ah yes, because that’s fucking obvious when someone wants to shoot me. Maybe just once don’t be so cryptic, you dick.”

“Gregory please, I love you. I…”

“Go home, Mycroft.” Greg suddenly snapped.

“You are my home.”

Greg took a deep breath to control his heart rate. “Go to your house, Holmes.”

“Gregory-”

“Go to your house. If I want to speak with you, I have a phone.”

Greg turned his head and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the pain in Mycroft’s face. Not wanting Mycroft to see how hard it was for him to make the choice.

* * *

Five days later, Greg hadn’t received a phone call or text from Mycroft or Anthea. He’d talked to Sherlock, who dramatically explained that Mycroft was… well Sherlock didn’t use the word moping, but it was the best explanation in Greg’s eyes. And John helped him come to terms with what his body was doing… or refusing to do. John had brought Rosie with him, who gave him a card with his name (Graham) and her name inside. Sally has done a whip-round at work brought him some flowers and a novelty card that sang “Congratulations” whenever it was opened.

But neither Mycroft or anyone working for him had come into his room.

On the fifth day, a nurse came in and explained that he was fit to go home.

“I can discharge you into someone’s care, do you have anyone that you can phone?”

Greg thought, he would’ve called Mycroft, knowing that Mycroft would probably had dropped his work to see him back to their house, but was he ready to have that conversation with him? And he couldn’t put onto John and Sherlock, not when they had Rosie to look after. And Sally had just moved in with someone, he couldn’t do that to the happy pair.

“Sir?” The nurse asked.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that the guy I would’ve called, he was the one to have me shot in the leg.”

“I’m sorry, is there anyone else you could call?” He asked.

“No, no I’ll get him to come, we need to talk eventually, might as well rip the plaster off rather than prolong it.”

The nurse nodded, and left Greg to make the phone call. He tried to work out what to say as it rang, _Hi Myc, I’m being discharged from hospital, mind picking me up?_ Sounded slightly informal for where their relationship last ended.

Before he could think of a suitable thing to say, the call was picked up.

“Mr. Holmes’ phone, he is currently in a meeting, who is it?”

Greg clenched his teeth at the voice.

“Anthea. Can you not read the user ID?”

“Ah, Mr. Lestrade, I’m sorry about that, Mr. Holmes has deleted your number, I couldn’t possibly…”

“Don’t lie to me, I know he hasn’t. Sherlock said he has been, he didn’t use the word moping, but he said that Mycroft was moping.”

“He doesn’t want to speak with you.”

“Please… we need to talk.”

“What about?”

“If he still wants to know me, which I guess he does because I’ve not been shipped off to Guam, then tell him that I can be discharged from hospital, but I need to be discharged into someone’s care.”

The next voice Greg heard wasn’t Anthea’s female voice, but a hoarse sounding Mycroft.

“You made it clear that you didn’t want to see me.”

“Mycroft, please. Please, I… I panicked, I was scared, I was… come pick me up, I’m going to be discharged into someone’s care, and we need to talk.”

“Why must we talk? I know your position…”

“Because I still love you.” Greg interrupted Mycroft quietly.

He heard Mycroft’s sharp intake of breath at his sudden declaration.

“I will with you in ten minutes, allowing for traffic.”

Was all Mycroft could say, as he powered down his laptop, mid email and rushed out of his office.

Seven minutes later he was in the hospital, trying to push past doctors and patients alike to get to Greg’s private room. He rushed in came to a halt when he saw Greg, sat on the edge of the bed, his arm in a sling, a crutch by his side, a slight sheen to his forehead and a travel bag swung over one shoulder.

“I never realised-” Greg kept silent as he waited for Mycroft to finish his sentence. What could the cleverer Holmes not realise. “I was so caught up in my own amalgamation of emotions, that I never stopped to think about you.”

Mycroft took the few steps and knelt in front of Greg.

“May I hug you?”

Greg nodded, and as soon as Mycroft’s arms engulfed him, he felt a protective layer that had been shot away seven days earlier. Hot tears fell onto Mycroft’s bespoke jacket, but he could not care less, for Greg was once again in his arms. For Greg was once again feeling safe in his arms.

“I will never stop loving you Gregory.” Mycroft vowed.

With his uninjured arm, Greg held onto Mycroft’s lapel, keeping him close. He continued to cry into Mycroft’s shoulder, whimpering and trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you too, Myc. Please take me home.”

Mycroft nodded and wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist, helping him to his feet. Greg leaned heavily into Mycroft’s side, using him for his balance, but mainly for his warmth. He had missed Mycroft’s body being next to him, constantly touching, no matter what they were doing. He had missed Mycroft’s body laying next to him in bed for seven days. Listening to Mycroft’s light snoring, when he had fallen asleep, still in bliss from his climax, or the feeling of Mycroft hugging him tighter when he had a bad dream. And he missed using Mycroft, using Mycroft as his pillow and his hot water bottle. He had missed snuggling into Mycroft’s side as they sat watching the television. And most of all he had missed Mycroft’s voice, he didn’t care what they would have talked about, but just hearing Mycroft’s voice soften. Especially when he picked Mycroft up from work, hearing his voice quieten and soften, knowing that he was privileged to see a side of Mycroft that no one else knew about. Not Sherlock, not Anthea, not the Queen of England. He didn’t realise he had missed everything until he had pushed it away.

“I’m sorry for shouting and getting angry at you Mycroft.” Greg said softly, after Mycroft had signed the forms for Greg’s release.

“It is understandable why you got angry, there is nothing to apologise for.” Mycroft said softly. “Let’s get you home and comfortable, if you want to talk about it later, then we can do.”

Greg agreed and allowed Mycroft to help back into the back of his chauffeured car. As Mycroft climbed in after him, Greg laid his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and wrapped and arm over his stomach.

“You’ve been comfort eating.” Greg commented quietly.

“I- yes, I have. I’ve put on five pounds, but if you’re sticking around, I’ll be losing it, I promise. I was just so scared that you had left me, seen me for who I am.”

Greg hummed in thought. “Don’t lose it too quickly, you can be my comfy pillow whilst I’m still majoritively bedbound.”

Mycroft nuzzled into Greg’s hair. “Only you can make me feel good about myself.”

“Only I know what you like, and you like me laying on you. Using you as a pillow, and I know you’d do anything to make me happy, especially after you had me shot.”

Mycroft’s eyes blew wide and he pulled back, “Greg, I’m so very sorry that I had you shot, I panicked, that was the first time someone has used my weakness against me, I didn’t realise how blank my mind would go. How I would react.”

“I know love, I don’t know what I would have done in your situation. I’m just going to use this against you.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay?”

Greg nodded and hugged Mycroft tighter. He tilted his head up and kissed Mycroft’s jaw softly. “Will you allow me, after I shouted at you?”

Mycroft tilted his head down, and pressed his lips softly to Greg’s own.

“Of course, we all have arguments Greg, no relationship is without shouting. Ours just may be more, unique.”

As they got home, Mycroft collected Greg’s bag and helped him inside. He dropped the bag on the entrance hall floor, and stepped in front of Greg. He wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist and held him close.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mycroft.” Greg smiled, as he kissed him softly, gently, tasting Mycroft again.

Mycroft slowly stepped forward, forcing Greg to step backwards. They kept walking, locked in a slow kiss, until Greg bumped into the sofa. He pulled Mycroft with him, as he moved to sit down. He pushed his legs wide, and pulled Mycroft between.

“Although, I could always have a demand list, before I forgive you.” Greg smirked.

“And what does that entail?”

“Plenty of sex, where I bottom, and I do believe we are down by a week.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg hungrily, pressing his whole body against Greg, he rutted against Greg’s stomach, feeling his cock harden. Greg moaned into Mycroft’s mouth, opening it and allowing Mycroft to roam every inch of his mouth.

Mycroft moved from Greg’s mouth and trailed a line of kisses across his cheek until he reached Greg’s ear. He nibbled and bit at Greg’s ear, making his mate groaned louder.

“Mycroft, God, Mycroft, fuck me. Please… it seems like… oh fuck, Myc.”

Greg dissolved into a babbling mess as Mycroft’s hand slipped under is waistband, and gazed Greg’s cock with his fingers.

“Are you standing to attention, for me?” Mycroft purred into Greg’s ear.

With his free hand, Greg started to pull at Mycroft’s buttons, trying to undo them. He finally got Mycroft’s jacket off, before pulling at his tie. Mycroft batted Greg’s hand away and deftly undressed himself in a matter of seconds. His own cock bouncing against Greg’s stomach. Greg pressed his hand against Mycroft’s pec and slowly ran it down to Mycroft’s stomach.

“I like you like this, a bit of padding, it does you good when you forget to eat all day, will you keep it?”

Mycroft shook his head, “I feel f-”

Greg caught Mycroft lips in his own, before he could finish the sentence. He continued to pushed his hands lower, as he fought Mycroft for dominance. As he wrapped his hand around Mycroft wide girth, he forced his tongue in Mycroft’s gasping mouth. He slowly pulled at Mycroft’s hardened cock. Mycroft whimpered and moaned against his lovers lips as Greg worked at him. He smiled as Mycroft started to pant and moan his name louder.

Greg let go of Mycroft, just as his eyes fluttered shut and he was on the brink of his orgasm.

“I thought I was going to bottom.” Greg smiled as he watched Mycroft pout.

“Get undressed then, and lay down, I can’t fuck you with your clothes on.”

Moments later Greg was laying down on the sofa, his injured leg hanging off the side, and his cock standing excitedly up in front of him. He looked up at Mycroft kneeling between his legs. His face was full of joy and pleasure at the sight of Greg laying in front of him, still loving him.

“Do you want me to go slow, so we don’t hurt you more?”

Greg pulled Mycroft roughly down on top of him, crashing his lips against Mycroft’s own, and kissed him passionately. He could taste Mycroft’s sweet lips against his own. It tasted uniquely of Mycroft, the tea that he had for lunch, some chocolate, and a taste that was something he only ever tasted on Mycroft.

“Fuck me hard, we have to make up for lost time.”

Mycroft nodded and slowly ran a finger around Greg’s hole, before pushing it in. Greg moaned Mycroft’s name as he pushed in another finger and started to fuck Greg slowly. Greg moaned and withered under Mycroft perfect ministrations.

“L- Myc, please…” Greg moaned. “I’m ready, let me take you.”

Mycroft’s cock jumped as Greg uttered the words. He pulled his fingers out of Greg and lined his cock up with Greg hole.

“I’ve missed this.” Mycroft smiled as he pushed his cock in Greg’s puckered hole.

Greg moaned loudly at the feeling of being filled. The feeling of Mycroft’s large girth stretching him wider. Mycroft pushed himself in fully, and waited to feel the ring of muscles loosen around his cock.

He eventually started to rock his hips in a slow, constant rhythm. With each thrust Greg moaned Mycroft name, louder and louder. Mycroft bent down and kissed and sucked at Greg’s neck, softly marking him. With one hand Greg reached between them and wrapped his hand around his own member, started to pull at it, in rhythm with Mycroft.

“Faster Myc… har- harder.” Greg whimpered as Mycroft cock brushed against his prostate.

Mycroft did as he was asked and slowly started to increase his tempo, until he was pummeling into Greg, making sure to hit his prostate on every other thrust.

Greg closed his eyes and was crying his name in a matter of moment, as he climaxed and spilt his seed over both their stomached and his hand. It only took Mycroft a few more thrusts until he was coming deep inside of Greg. He collapsed onto Greg’s body, his forehead pressed against his shoulder. He felt a hand come onto his shoulder blade and allowed himself to be grounded by it.

“Gre… gory.” Mycroft panted. “Oh Gregory. I love you.”

“I love you too Mycroft. I- I’ll never leave you, not ever.”

Greg kept his eyes shut, but felt Mycroft smile into his shoulder.

“We need to get you to bed, clean you up. It’s the doctor’s orders, and who are we to disagree with them?” Mycroft said after a long while.

“Just- just stay here with me, for a while longer. No rush, right, love?”


End file.
